


Only this now

by taurussieben



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Insecurity, M/M, Nightmares, Wedding Fluff, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taurussieben/pseuds/taurussieben
Summary: A wedding.Can this really be his happy ending?Shiro fears that at any moment he will wake up and find himself back in a more devastating reality.But what about that wedding?
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	Only this now

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the Sheith Reverse Wedding Big Bang 2019, based on the beautiful Art from [Aether-Staza](https://twitter.com/AetherStaza), who let me just run wild. You can find it at the end of the fic (hint its beautiful) and [here](https://aether-staza.tumblr.com/post/189663781240/heres-my-art-for-bangsheith-i-had-the-wonderful).
> 
> The very awesome and very terrifying [CruelisnotMason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason) who did an amazing job in a very short amount of time.
> 
> Update: Added the picture and the links.

They have won, is the only thought Knight Takashi Shirogane has for a good minute. They have won. He blinks into the dusk and finds carnage. Finally able to clear the dried blood from his head wound and the sweat and dirt from the battlefield out of his eye, he sees the victory. The forces of the Galra decimated, their witch and their king fallen.

An eerie silence descends over the battlefield for just a fraction, before the mournful cries of the wounded break the stillness, mixing with the shouts of the survivors, which take care of them.

They have won. It takes another moment for it to take root in his heart and his mind, feels it vibrating down to his very core.

They have won.

The relief of it makes him stumble, his crusted sword the only thing that supports his weight at that very moment. Another thought drags itself into his mind: Keith, he thinks, he needs to find Keith, he needs… He was not sure what exactly, but holding him, kissing him would be a good start, dancing with him in giddy relief would be probably inappropriate, but maybe he will do just that. 

Shiro blinks into the waning sun, red and golden, shining unfazed by the death on the earth. Slowly, he starts to walk, setting one foot in front of the other, unsteady at first, more sure with every passing step, a sudden urgency settling into his bones. 

_Keith_. 

The thought hammers urgently in his mind. He needs to find Keith. Just Keith. He searches the horizon, sweeping his gaze over familiar silhouettes. Shiro briskly nods to a couple knights of the Order of the Blades. Their leader Kolivan is shouting commands, while he holds his shoulder, the bandages around them already turning red. He sees Dame Krolia, Keith’s mother, pointing troops of the Alliance in different directions. On the other side his own soldiers, as well as the Holt siblings and the Sirs Lance and Hunk, are helping with moving the wounded to a secure place. Dame Allura is marching with a troop of soldiers holding shovels, to dig graves for the fallen; friends, and foes alike. But the one Shiro wants to see, the one who had united them all is nowhere to be seen. His braid not swaying in the shadows, his lithe figure not darting around between the soldiers, his voice, not issuing commands that ring over the plains. 

Shiro turns around, searching, searching, not finding anything until his eyes meet glowing ones, a shaggy mane. Kosmo, Keith’s massive wolfhound silently sits at the outskirts. His ears twitch. 

Shiro staggers, a certain thought fluttering through his mind, one of death, his steps pick up again. He can feel the gaze of his comrades in his back, hears shouts, but Shiro ignores them all. He runs fast and faster. His feet nearly slip on the ground as he makes haste. When he reaches the animal, he sees what he has most dreaded, his prince, fallen to the ground, the skin pale in the shadows of the night, armor and face crusted with dirt. Shiro falls to his knees, his fingers slowly reaching out, afraid of meeting cold skin. Shiro’s fingertips brush Keith’s cheeks, finding them still warm. Alerted by the touch, two eyes, usually violet, now nearly black, open. Shiro swallows. 

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice is unsteady, cracking.

“Hi.” Shiro lays his hand on the cheek.

“How does it look?” There is a wry note to the question.

“Good.” Shiro chokes out.

“Liar.” Amusement sparks through Keith’s eyes. The Holts come to them, their deft fingers examining the too still body. It takes them a few minutes, but they finally sit back. The shake of their heads is minuscule, but devastating. There was nothing they could do. Shiro licks his lips. “Did we won at least?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Shiro?” Keith’s eyes blink sluggishly, his voice breaking at the end.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Shiro chokes out, grasping his hand even tighter. Keith does not flinch. More people gather around them, the circle of people steadily growing. 

“I…”

“Tell me when you’re better.” Shiro feels the first tear run down his cheek. It itches where it dried.

“I already called you a liar.” There is just a tiny lift at the corner of his lips, it can also be a trick of the growing darkness.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Shiro bows closer, pressing a kiss with trembling lips to the clammy forehead.

“Tease,” Keith says. It’s a whisper between them. Shiro, unable to resist, presses his forehead to Keith’s, squeezing his eyes shut. Like this Shiro can imagine, just the two of them, early in the morning. Both of them still in their bed, still sleepy and so warm; speaking soft words to each other with hushed voices. Hovering on the edge of being awake and asleep.

“Keith?” Shiro whispers. But there is no answer. Still asleep, just asleep, but the hound whines, pawing at the ground.

Shiro can feel hands on him, trying to get him to stand up, dragging him away, but he can not.

Why should he?

“We need to prepare the prince.”

_But why?_

_He is only sleeping. His beautiful prince just sleeping._

Even when the pyres burn, taking the soldiers, the commanders, and the prince alike he is still waiting. Beautiful prince, beautiful king. The flames licking and dancing, glinting in red, yellow and blue. The prince looks so silent, still asleep. His crown, the golden one, with emeralds and rubies, encrusted with diamonds, rests perfectly straight on his black hair, shimmering in the moonlight before the flames turn everything red and hazy. Keith always laughed at that crown, about how gaudy and impractical it is.

They hadn’t even waited for the morning to break but called for the pyres to be lit around midnight. They all stand beside him, silent, the fire flickering in their dull eyes. 

The Marmoran are the first to leave; they had seen too many deaths already while they had waited and worked in the shadows. The knights leave next, they still have much to do, there are enemies to bury. The dames follow after them, more tasks that need hands and eyes and clear minds.

The hound stays until everything is ember and ashes, and only bones and a crown remain. Shiro bows again to his beautiful prince.

Sleep finds Shiro, days later, he wishes it was death instead. His dreams are black and cruel, filled with her glowing eyes and cackling laughter. The eyes of the witch, the leader of the Galra. The army that had swept the lands like a plaque in the conquest of only one thing: to destroy. She is mocking him, his prince, and mocking his victory. Is it really one?

“Could not save him.” She cackles. “Could never save them.” 

“You are just an illusion, a dream, a bad dream.” Shiro whispers into the dark. Unsure.

“Are you sure, little knight, little boy. Are you really sure?” Her voice just right next to his ear. “I bound him to death, and you could not save him. You were not enough.” Laughter, shrill, and endless. “Never enough.”

“I was enough, I’m enough.” He screams.

“Was, was!” She echoes. “You never were, and you never will be again.”

Shiro blinks and is awake. His eyes find dark gray stones at the ceiling. For just a fraction, he expects to see a black sky and stars and to feel cold hard earth under him. But his hands and his back only find softness. He shifts, moving the blanket atop of him with it, there is a creek from a bed made from wood. 

He is in a real bed, in an actual room, in a castle. His mind is still hazy. He tries to grasp the fragments of the dream. Was it a dream? 

He turns to the side, eyes searching for someone but finding no one. Empty. A pressure like cold prickly fingers squeezes his heart. He sits up, trying to find out what was going. His gaze drifts through the room, finding gold and white and green. He turns to it fully. There, on a mannequin, sits his armor, one for festivals and parades. Golden and shiny, clean. No speck of dirt, no blood. He blinks. There is a thought lurking. _A wedding._

It is just a small word, but it brings an onslaught of memories.

The battle happened months ago. He remembers searching for Keith, his golden prince, who was lost on the battlefield. He found him, wounded, bleeding, barely arriving in time.

Shiro buries his face in his hands and takes a few calming breaths. He tries forcing the darkness of the dream, the nightmare, away, but it nestles just right under his heart, taking root.

Keith is alive, sleeping alone in another room in another wing of the castle, as tradition demands.

A sudden glee overcomes Shiro, chasing away the lump in his throat at the memory. His fingers still tremble. He rubs them along his arms, tracing over his bracelet on the right wrist. It’s made of sturdy iron plated with gold. His fingers curl around it, the feeling of it grounding him. Sometimes he thinks that the prince agreeing to marry him is a wishful dream.

With every turn of the bracelet, Shiro’s memories come back.

They burned their lost ones, buried their enemies, as it was per their customs. When everything was done, he settled at Keith’s bedside. He ate when he was hungry. He relieved himself when he needed, he attended the meetings about restoring the kingdom. But at night, in the shine of a flickering candle, he held the hand of his prince, of his— Shiro swallowed. They had walked such a long way together, but he had never admitted it, never dared to even think it, but here in the night, with his rapidly beating heart in the silence, with only a steady breath audible and no one to witness, he allowed the thought for the first time: He held the hand of his beloved. The thought did nothing to lessen the agony and the worry in him, it did not bring him enough peace to allow sleep for more than the duration of the candle burning down another inch.

“You aren’t the king, why should we listen to you?” The council member spat, his eyebrows drawn close together, his jaw set. Shiro had a hard time remembering his name. It was just another one of those old and wrinkled men that did not understand. Understand, that Shiro only served, that he did not want to gain anything out of it. All he wanted was to keep the kingdom together until Keith woke, until he could climb on the throne and could finally be called _King_ to his face.

Shiro was exhausted, his vision swam in places, he needed to be careful not to stumble. He probably looked like hell, with dark smudges under his eyes, and a slight tremor in his hands.

“He is the prince’s knight.” A small voice said. Shiro looked over to Master Pidge (she never took well to the title Dame). She filled in for her father and brother, who had been called away to restore god knows what, and could not take their place as advisors to the crown.

“What?” The council elder looked confused, drawing his brows even tighter together. Shiro didn’t think this was possible.

“Knight Takashi Shirogane holds the Oath of the Crown.” She pointed at him, and Shiro’s fingers wandered involuntarily to the small pin at his label Keith had given it to him years back, a purple-blue iris. Without thinking would Shiro transfer it from tunic to tunic.

The elder blinked at him, and squinted at the pin before turning pale. There was a very long moment of silence, while the other members looked everywhere but not at him and the elder before Dame Allura finally called for order and went to the next point on the agenda. Shiro let the rest of the meeting flow over him.

_The Oath of the Crown._

After the meeting, he caught Pidge’s arm. “What does it mean?” Pointing to the pin at his label.

But she looked at him, first confused, then sad before she pulled her arm away and left with a muttered “stupid boys.” Shiro watched her go.

When he returned to Keith’s bedside, he found a scroll waiting, Keith’s seal dangling in the air. A proclamation. He knew that one, it was the same one Keith’s had given him the day he had made him his knight, his paladin. Never one for formalities Shiro had skimmed the first paragraphs; formal wording always making his head spin. 

The day Keith had asked him to be his knight, the weather had been kind of dreadful, like the whole week before. The rain had found the troops on their expedition to the eastern mountains, clinging to them mercilessly, drenching them and their supplies, leaving only coldness and moldiness behind. They had been lucky to find a cave, secluded and big enough to take in most of the force that was traveling.

They were to make way for the western meeting point, bringing the war preparation to a close, to finally take back Keith’s throne. Shiro remembered how Keith had stood in the opening of the cave, watching the rain pouring down, shivering from the wind, not caring about himself, lost in his thoughts. Shiro had not been able to leave him like that, so he had walked closer, draping his own cap over the smaller man. It was still clammy but had been able to keep the worst of the cold wind away. And Keith? He had just turned, watching him from those deep dark eyes. In the shadows, Shiro had barely seen the hint of lilac and blue in them. The words uttered from his mouth fell between them, words Shiro had never thought he would hear.

“Be my knight.”

And so, in the twilight of a dirty cave, kneeling in the gravel with sharp stone digging uncomfortably into his knees and shins, Keith had drawn his sword, and Shiro swore fealty to his prince from the bottom of his heart.

Shiro shook his head to chase the reminiscence of the memory away and unrolled the scroll. Reading it was as dreary as he remembered, he needed to force himself to keep going. Much later, he let it sink again.

“Idiot boy,” he called the sleeping man fondly. He had it there in writing, should ever happen something to him, Shiro was to be named his successor. He was not sure what he felt at this blatant show of trust and loyalty. Did he deserve it? Guilt spread through him.

Was he worthy?

The prince, his prince, had fallen, nearly bleeding out, hovering at death’s door. Shiro had failed to protect him, had been unable to keep his oath. So how—

“You may have nearly failed to save him, but you did what you swore you would do; you saved his kingdom.”

Shiro startled at the words. Had he been so engrossed that he did not take notice of his surroundings? He really was not worthy, even here he would not have been able to protect—

“Oh, Shiro.” Dame Allura said before she sat down in the chair next to him. For a second he admired her elegant movements, which all of the Alteans seemed to possess, besides their pointy ears and colorful cheek markings. “I’m sure you would have sensed it if there had been any danger.”

But Shiro only shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “Maybe.” He let his shoulders drop. “Why have you come?”

“Master Pidge told me that you were unaware of the…magnitude of your title.” She said delicately. “And I came to make sure that you did not fall into a new slump.”

“New slump?” He looked over, furrowing his brows.

“Least, we shall forget the great quarrel from the Rikker Waterfalls.” Her voice was grave, but the twinkle in her eyes could not be overlooked.

“I can’t recall any sulking.” But Shiro could not stop himself from scratching his neck in embarrassment.

“I see. My error then.” Her tone made it clear she did not believe him.

They fell into a comfortable silence, both watching the still figure of their prince. His complexion had started to look better, the purple under his eyes slowly fading. The words of the healers made him hope. “Soon,” they said, “very soon.”

“You said, I did not fail, what is your conclusion?” Shiro did not dare to look at her. “I… I swore myself to him. Him. Not this kingdom. I swore to protect _him_.” He finished with a whisper.

“That may be true, but you need to remember, now and forever, that he _is_ the kingdom. We both know that the people of this land, _his_ people, are more important to him than his own life. In protecting them, you did what he asked of you. Which was rather cruel of him to do, but who am I to judge.” Shiro shuddered. “Are you still doubting his decision?”

“I—” How could he say it out loud when he merely admitted it to himself just a day ago, and only in the privacy of his thoughts. “I don’t feel worthy,” he confessed, shaking his head before looking up at Allura. Her smile was soft and warm. She took the scroll from his trembling hands, furling it up and laying it on the bed.

“Maybe you aren’t, but it is not for us to decide but for our prince. You trust him, or? His judgment, his thoughts, his mind?” 

Shiro nodded, his eyes drifting back to the too still figure before they snapped back. “Then, also trust him in this.” There was another beat of silence until Allura softly chuckled. “You love him.”

“I—” Why was it so difficult to admit to it?

Allura sighed. “Tell him when he is awake.”

“Tell me what?” Drifted the drowsy voice between them. Both of them leaped up instantly. 

“Keith!” They shouted in unison, before Allura ran out of the door, calling for a healer. Shiro just stared at him, not entirely understanding that what he was seeing was real. Keith’s eyes were barely open, just a sliver in the dimly lit room. Keith blinked and smiled, hinted by the slight upturn of the corner of his lips. 

A furrow suddenly formed between his brows, the eyes blinked open, he worked to get a hand free from the heavy blankets, reaching for Shiro’s cheek carefully. 

“You are crying.” His voice was rough and full of wonder. Unable to keep it up his hand fell down again.

“I am?” Shiro raised his own hand to his face, surprised, and yes, his fingertips came back wet. He looked at the bit of glistening water. “Oh.”

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m happy.”

After Shiro had reassured him that everything was indeed okay, Keith had fallen asleep again. The regular and healing kind of sleep, the healers promised.   
  


What followed after was a long road to recovery. It took weeks alone for Keith being able to even get out of bed and nearly three months in being capable enough to take back the control of his kingdom. And Shiro? He was at his side every step of the way, held him, when Keith cried out in frustration and pain, celebrated the small milestones of being awake longer and less tired.

And every day, Shiro just fell deeper in love, for the man who never stopped fighting. 

It had been a tough time, Shiro admits to himself when he taps a finger to the golden bracelet at his wrist. Still, he smiles before he moves his body out of bed. The ground is cold, and he hisses at the sudden icy contact. His muscles are protesting from years of wandering and fighting , when he stretches slowly. His joints are destroyed, and after a lonely night in a cold bed, they are especially cranky. Having a warm body beside him helps, Keith helps. His gaze travels to the armor again. Soon, he tells himself, soon.

Absentminded, he scratches the massive scar on his right arm. Just a bit more pressure, a less skilled physician, and the arm would have been lost. Only the joined efforts of the Holts and a bit of Altean druid magic, courtesy of Dame Allura, kept it attached and usable. And even if he lost it, saving Keith at that moment had been everything. The added benefit of finally defeating Sendak, one of the more ruthless generals of Zarkon, the leader of Galra, still paled in comparison. Mere weeks before the final battle, it was one of their most important victories. It was also one of the first times Keith was angry at him, furious even. After Zendak’s fall, they had made camp at the Rikker Waterfalls. There Keith had confronted him.

“Why did you do it?” Keith trembled with the anger visibly coursing through him. Shiro was not sure why. He had protected him, taken the sword slash that was meant for him, why was the other man so angry?

“Why are you angry?”

“Because you could have lost your arm, or worse, be dead!”

“But I’m not important?”

“You— what?” Keith’s eyes were big and round and so full of disbelief, that Shiro needed to swallow, trying to find the reason. Keith just shook his head and marched right out of the tent. The combined effort of Allura and Lance was needed to knock some sense into Shiro and to make him understand what he had implied, and how Keith would have felt if he really had died protecting him.

He chuckles fondly at the memory and steps to the small washbasin. The mirror is not gentle to his appearance. His black hair with the white tuft makes him look older than he is and feels, grey eyes and a hideous scar right across his nose, make a somewhat misshapen picture. And still, he touches the scar with a fond smile, Keith gave it to him, wild and beautiful Keith, who instead of speaking cut first before he asked any questions. 

It happened in the small clearing in the woods right outside the gates. In the beginning, Shiro and his men had only followed Sendak and his troops after Sendak had pillaged outside his own kingdom. They had trailed them, waiting for an opportunity to take them out. They found Keith instead, up in the trees, fury in his veins. He attacked them without a second thought, and with so much anger. In rage he slashed across Shiro’s face, the dagger sinking deep. The sudden stream of red made Keith stop, too stunned at what he was seeing. Lance and Matt Holt secured him. Pidge hastily bandaged Shiro up. 

Not really knowing what to do with Keith, they took him along, across the lands, back to their own kingdom. On the journey there, after many challenges, the suspicious glint in those violet eyes slowly receded, a small smile flittering over Keith’s face from time to time. The first time Shiro saw it, he believed that the world must have stopped. It was just a small fleeting twitch of his lips, not more than a smirk if Shiro was honest. The origin had been a bad joke about Lance and a bowl of too hot soup, but still… something broke open deep inside Shiro, something magnificent and big and terrifying.

With soft fingertips Shiro touches the scar again. It took a rather long time to heal, and sometimes Keith would touch it, slowly dragging his fingertips over the rigged skin, exhaling deeply. And every time Shiro would capture his fingers and press them directly over his heart, letting Keith feel the steady beat, showing him that everything was alright. 

Shiro brushes his hair and while he turns around, his gaze catches in the mirror the thick knobby scars on his back. He swallows. Keith had seen them, they all had seen them, and still… they weigh heavily on his conscious.

Six months after they took Keith with them, they ran into an ambush. His memory is still hazy about everything that directly lead up to it and what happened exactly. Selective amnesia the Holts said, maybe Shiro would never recover all of the memories of this time. It was probably better. 

They took him, only him. Brought him somewhere dark and damp and desolate. They took everything that he was and twisted it. He was a fighter, so they made him fight; not to protect, but to survive. To kill other prisoners, or he would be killed. He did not want to do it, but the price for refusal was heavy. He needed to get back to the others, he needed to get back to Keith. But his mind... Zarkon’s witch did things to him, he still was not able to name, showed him things he never wanted to see in this life. With every moment he lived through this hell, his wounds grew, growing, festering, oozing. His mind fell apart. 

And still he fought. A prisoner who did not fight would not see another day. The guards would drag those away, deeper and deeper, down into the black underbelly of the dungeons, where the shadows seemed to writhe. Sometimes they heard screams and weeping, and sometimes, there was only silence.

One day, it was enough. Another comrade he killed, one who had held onto his smile in this…place. However he did it, the prisoner was one who answered in more than the bare grunt and minuscule gestures; one, who had made Shiro feel alive, human. He still smiled when Shiro speared him on his sword, right through the heart. 

His back had hurt, painfully so, he stood in the open arena, tasting the approaching winter on his tongue, the air smelling like snow. He was tired. He sat down and… just wanted to let the sword rest, when they came calling again. Just let it lay there in the dirt of his prison, reflecting in the light of the waxing moon. Just…

Close his eyes for a second.

_…nothing_

When he woke, he was somewhere warm and soft, the smell of herbs tickling his tongue. _Is this how death feels like_ , was the only thought he remembered having, before falling back into the darkness.

Waking again, the first thing he saw were Keith’s eyes, round and vast, filled with worry, a crease between his brows. Maybe he was really saved, and if not, this was a good dream.

“You found me.” He croaked.

Keith's smile had been watery and filled with so much relief that Shiro had felt it vibrate down to his very being. Maybe this was not a dream; he thought before falling asleep again.

His recovery from his imprisonment was long and painful. But he made it, they made it. 

A stray sun ray blinds Shiro for a second, bringing him back to the present. He walks over to the tailor puppet, setting the pieces down. Matt wanted to help him, but Shiro had sent him away the night before with gentle words. He needed this time alone, thinking, reflecting. This was it. On this day, he would lose his status as a knight, as a paladin. Someone else would swear the Oath of the Crown. He would not be the sole protector of the prince, no, the king, of his beloved, anymore

Despite being capable enough, he would even gain his own protector, alongside his new title, consort. He would get a crown, a smaller and less sparkly one, to Keith’s amusement. But it would be a crown nonetheless. Here and now, and down at the temple, it would be the last time he would wear this uniform. The one from his own kingdom, the one from his own order, the one that had carried him through all the ups and downs, through the battles and the war. 

Is he ready?

His fingers find the bracelet anew. 

The thought crawled through his mind late at night, even then. After Keith had mostly recovered. After he ascended the throne the moment he could walk to it, already arguing with the council the very same day, running his hand through his hair in a sign of frustration (Shiro itched with the desire to smooth it back down again); Shiro guarded him, walked him outside the chambers, standing behind him at the council table (and starring that one elder into submission to Dame Allura’s amusement), brought him food and water and reminded him that taking breaks would not throw the kingdom right back into chaos again. Bringing him to bed was only a natural extension.

“Shiro?” Keith's voice was drowsy and soft, when Shiro scooped him up in his arms.

“Yeah, Keith?” He asked gently, while setting him down onto the bed, drawing the blanket over him. He gave in to the temptation of swiping a lock of hair out of his face.

“Never leave,” Keith barely voiced before he succumbed to sleep.

Shiro froze, he had already sworn himself to Keith, his crown and his kingdom. He didn’t dare to breathe, waited until the breath of his prince smoothed out, before he moved again, over to the desk. Right before Shiro could blow out the candles, drifted his eyes to the parchment Keith had been drooling on, before Shiro put him to bed. He did not want to read it, but his eyes stopped at the words “marriage”, “heir” and “change”.

Shiro’s heavy hand landed on the desk, his body trembling. Keith had been busy these last days, shut away in council meetings that Shiro was not invited to. It kind of made sense. Now that the kingdom was secured, Keith needed a marriage, an heir, something tangible to bring visible stability to the crown. He needed to show the people that the line was secure and that there would be no imminent risk of another war.

The longer Shiro stared at those words, the more his whole being seemed to tremble. He nearly collapsed then and there. The thought of Keith marrying someone else, marrying…not him was almost too much for him.

He forced himself to calm down, fighting the blind panic creeping up on him. He just saw a few words, he told himself, just words out of context. _The whole_ , thrummed it through him, he needed to read the whole. Slowly and with uttermost care he read it, his lips moving with the words, giving them shape and form, giving him an anchor; as he read it again and again and hope blossomed in his chest.

“Thereby it is concluded, that while a king and queen line needs to be secured, it is presumptuous to assume that only the direct line of blood will bring peace and stability to the land and its people. So as the following I propose: The line(s) speaking and referring to be married remain, but the line(s) _an heir of the same dire bloodline_ will be repealed and replaced with the line(s) a chosen heir,…”

“…which might be of the same bloodline, side bloodline or entirely foreign and made family by adoption, ward succession or any other form of accepted and acknowledged family tie, will be bestowed with the title heir.”

Shiro turned around slowly. Keith’s open eyes glinted in the candlelight. His voice was soft and melodic. Shiro swallowed. He found it hard to breathe, to think straight. They just watched each other in this tiny space between them. Could Keith hear the loud drum of his heart? Could he see the same possibilities Shiro saw at that moment? The sudden clank of a door down the hallway broke the spell. Shiro was only able to bow his head. “Sleep well.” He extinguished the candles and flew from the chamber. Keith’s burning gaze scorching his back.

That night Shiro did not sleep, and with the early morning barely broken over the horizon, he found himself knocking at Krolia’s door.

Later, when he held the golden bracelets in his hands for the first time, they appeared too fragile in his large hands. He pocketed them and waited. Waited until the change of law passed, waited until the discussions in the council quieted down, waited until the law took full effect, and he would probably still have waited for the perfect moment to this day, if not a marriage proposal from Prince Lotor had arrived.

He turns his hands over and traces with the thumb of the other hand, the large scar on his palm.

When Keith came to him, the missive from Lotor in his hand, Shiro was sharpening his sword. The content of the letter startled him enough that he gripped the blade with his bare hands. Only feeling the pain when Keith’s face has lost all color while watching the blood drop from Shiro’s hand to the floor.

When he sat in front of a scolding Matt, who patched him up, he felt the bracelets cling in his pocket. He was not ready, he would never be ready. But if he did not act now, he never would, and someone else would swoop and spirit his beloved away because Keith was still bound by duty.

So when Keith appeared later at Shiro’s office, to check on his wound, worry visible in his face, Shiro kept a steady gaze on him and pulled the bracelets out of his pocket, laying them down on the wooden top of his desk. He needed to clear his throat twice before willing the words out. “You are everything for me. The thought of you being bound to another is unthinkable. I’m no royal, I’m just a man with a sword, who swore to protect you, but I—”

Keith put his hands on his trembling ones, smiling softly. Shiro stopped, didn’t dare to breathe. “Yes, Shiro, I would be honored.”

“Yes?” Shiro blinked, waiting for the dream to finally splinter.

“Is it so unbelieving? Or did you only ask, because you thought I’d deny your request?” Amusement glinted in Keith’s eyes, but also something cold.

“No!” Shiro shouted. He was out of his seat in seconds. “No,” he repeated calmer. “But, I—”

Keith stood as well, walked around the desk and kissed him. When he drew back, he smiled before extending his wrist. “Please, be so kind.”

In his haste, Shiro nearly dropped the bracelet twice.

Later, as Keith sat down at the council meeting, the whole chamber quieted down at the sight of the slender wrist of their king and what glinted there. The promise-bracelet was beautiful. Dame Allura threw Shiro a thoughtful look, who once again had taken his place behind Keith’s right, before smirking. Shiro answered with a wink.

The real storm of chatter and shouts had started, when Shiro bowed down beside Keith, propping himself up on the council table with the right arm, his hand perfectly aligned with Keith’s wrist, their bracelets softly clinking together. Convincing those members of the council was not easy, but Shiro had already proven himself before, and Keith could be very…kingly when he wanted to get his point across.

The faint stir of arousal shifts through Shiro’s body as he remembers those fiery eyes and commanding voice that day in the council chamber. He swallows it down. This was neither the place nor the time, but later…he chuckles. And just like that, he had been betrothed to his prince, his king, his best friend, his all. And yet, even now, the fragments of the nightmare floating around in his mind, he still fears it was all a dream. That, when they close the bond finally, everything will break away, and he will wake and find himself alone in a dark place, the air heavy with the smoke of the pyres, the graves fresh. 

Shiro lashes the little leather belts on his armor close. It is a practiced movement. As he checks the fit, he remembers how he nearly lost Keith for the first time.

Then, before he was even able to swear to protect him. A stray arrow found his way into soft flesh, missing the heart and major blood vessels by mere inches. It took the Holts a whole night to get Keith back from the brink of death’s door. Shiro watched all night the rise and fall of the small chest, willing it back up, when it sunk down, and down, when it had risen, as if with the power of his mind, he could keep Keith’s chest moving. It was the first time, Shiro connected the dots. The moment they met the troop of Galra soldiers, they aimed for Keith. Shiro wanted answers, he needed them. He waited two nights and days, before Keith finally stirred, returning to waking. First, there was a frown, a slight crease between Keith’s brows, then the eyelids fluttered before they opened a crack. 

“Keith.” Shiro whispered, laying his hand on a still too warm cheek. Keith melted into it. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Keith tried to reply, but its voice was just a croak. Then he fell promptly asleep again. Shiro called for the Holts, who assured them that Keith was indeed only sleeping, and everything was going to be okay. Shiro slumped in relief, to the amusement of his friends and fellow soldiers. 

Even if a treacherous part of himself insisted it would not happen, Keith got better with every passing day. He was awake longer, soon he could move around and even walk outside. The first time he sat up in bed without any help and ate the stew Shiro brought him, Shiro finally found the courage to ask the question that burned under the skin all the time.

“Why you?” Keith’s brows drew together in thought, clearly trying to understand Shiro’s question. When he dropped his gaze, Shiro knew that Keith understood it.

“Because,” Keith swallowed, “they recognized me.”

“You?” Shiro drew his brows together. “But why? Are you someone important?” He joked. But Keith just froze up, his hands bunching up the fabric of the bedding in his hands. He locked his jaw tight, a wildness coming to his eyes. And with a blink, all was just gone, what was left was a tired and exhausted young man; one who was at the end of a long road. Shiro believed the other would not answer him, stay in his imposed silence, keeping his secrets. When he finally spoke, the voice was nearly inaudible but firm.

“I am Crown Prince Keith Yorak Kogane of Marmora.”

Shiro was already moving, before both of them became even aware of it, rising and falling to one knee in one smooth movement, bowing his head.

“Please, no, no, please, no Shiro. Don’t do this.” Keith’s hands were on him, touching Shiro’s face, the hand Shiro had already balled to a fist over his heart, touching the bent knee. Shiro looked up, smiling softly. 

“I am a knight, your highness.” He felt…regret.

Keith pressed their foreheads together. “And I am a prince without a kingdom.”

But Shiro shook his head, as much as he could, without dislodging their foreheads. “I can’t deny who I am.”

“Then be a knight, but never call me that again. Not you, please, never you.”

There was a long pause. Keith wasn’t letting go. He held surprisingly much strength for being at death’s door not so long ago. “As you wish…Keith.” Keith studied him, gauging his sincerity, before letting him go again. He settled back into bed and took the bowl with stew he had discarded in the wake of their argument.

“What happened?” Shiro questioned after he settled back onto the small stool again.

“To what?” Keith mumbled.

“Your throne.”

Keith was thoughtful, the spoon resting against his lips, tapping in small movements. Shiro needed to avert his eyes. “I don’t really know. I remember living in a castle, and then being in the woods, and then I was alone.” He scrunched his brows. “And then I was hunted.”

“The current king…”

“Is apparently my uncle, I think. He is sending the men after me, or they have the order to kill me on sight. There is probably also a bounty involved.” He shrugged.

“And the people of your kingdom just took it?” 

Keith shrugged again, looking down into the bowl, frowning slightly. “I don’t know. I was very young when we left.”

Shiro watched him, saw the slight tremble in his hands, the tightness around his eyes. The wish to help rose from the bottom of his heart. He licked his lips, struggling with the emotions inside him. He had a distinct feeling that the moment he left the tent, Keith would close up again, so Shiro needed to decide here and now what he wanted.

“Say, Keith, do you want your throne, your kingdom back?”

Keith’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

“Do you want your kingdom back?”

“I—” Keith blinked. Shiro waited.

“I—” Keith looked so helpless. Was it a question no one had asked before? Probably. It was surely also a thought he had not allowed himself to have before. He finally settled onto a near silent, “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” Shiro rose. Keith’s eyes tracked him.

“And then what?”

Shiro smiled. “If you have an answer, come and find me.”

“What is it to you?"

“You will see.”

The memory drifts away as Shiro snaps the last piece of the armor into place. He walks back to the mirror to check if everything was sitting correctly. He runs his fingers through the short strands of his hair, Matt insisted on cutting it. Being on the run and then in a war, had cut short on their personal grooming time. The cut makes the white forelock stand out so much more. Keith chuckled at it, and told him, if the hair got any whiter, he would be his personal dandelion, before running his hands through it and then kissing him on the temple. The gesture was so intimate that Shiro blushed. Keith, on seeing that, laughed. The private laugh, quiet and deep, a chuckle, not more. Shiro fell in love all over again. 

He walks over to the window. The sun has risen, flooding the land under him with a warm light. He watches servants run around, getting everything ready for the day. He sees Dame Allura pointing her hands here and there, delegating the flock of running people like she is choreographing a dance, with sharp and graceful movements. 

After their talk, it took Keith two days to find him. They did not move from their camp as Keith was still recovering (Keith had protested rather loudly, but Shiro had pulled rank). He walked up to Shiro, one hand on his hips the other balled into a fist. “I want it back.” He declared, his voice ringing over the clearing they stood in. And once again, Shiro kneeled, but before he could voice what had been since then on his mind, they were surrounded.

The itch in his shoulder brings him out of the memory. He curses as he tries to move it just right, to scratch it. He knows it is a short relief. He is till cross with Kolivan about this injury.

They never heard their attackers move. When Shiro looked around, they were completely surrounded. First, he believed it to be Galra, but they waited, shifted. Demonlike masks, with sharp teeth and glowing eyes, leather armor that was nearly as dark as the night. Swords and arrows pointed at them; the logical choice was to surrender. But they did not make the equation with Keith, strong, beautiful Keith.

“What is your desire?” His voice rang full and clear over the gathered. Nobody dared to move, until the line of men around them slowly shifted, and parted, revealing a big man with broad shoulders.

“We want you gone. This is our land.” The voice was rough and deep.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “No, this is the land of the Koganes.” At that, a ripple went through the crowd.

“What is that name to you?” Curiosity mixed with harshness.

Shiro moved on instinct. It was a small sound, tiny in the space around them, the slight creek of the bowstring, a slight whistling, and then an arrow was stuck in Shiro’s shoulder, the sudden pain and surprise brought him down to one knee. It was not deep, the shoot was not aimed, but regardless, Keith was safe. Time ticked. His own soldiers drew their swords, others put their bows up.

“Enough!” Shiro shouted, finding enough strength to rise. He thrust his sword into the earth, partly to lean on it, partly in wanting to diffuse the situation. Keith was at his side, supporting him.

The leader of the attackers held up his hand, halting his men. There was a moment of silence before a tiny voice could be heard. “I’m sorry.” They all turned. Small and dejected stood a warrior between two bigger ones, looking down. “I’m not sure how that happened.”

“Regis!” The leader shouted.

It made the warrior flinch even more. “Sorry.”

There were some chuckles and an exaggerated sigh. 

“I apologize for my hasty…soldier.”

“Then show your face.” Keith's voice left no room for argument.

There was another chuckle, before the leader slowly reached up to his head, drawing the hood back and loosening the fastening of his mask.

The face under it was marred by deep lines, the mouth held sharp teeth, and his hair was nearly violet.

“You are Galra.” Shiro blinked at them. 

“Yes.” Came the simple reply. Shiro could see his men tense again.

“I’m Kolivan, leader of the Marmora. And before the… disturbance,” his eyes flickered for a moment to the hasty soldier, “I asked a question. What is that name to you?”

Keith stood straighter, still supporting Shiro. “I’m Keith Yorak Kogane.”

Shiro will never forget Kolivan’s face until the day he died. His mouth hanging open, the eyes big and round. The men around them had murmured. This was the day they met a splinter group of the Galra, who fought to free the land from the tyranny of Zarkon and his witch, the empress. They were remnants from the original guard of the then king and queen, fighters they picked up along the way, prisoners they freed.

It was also the day they met Keith’s mother, Krolia.

How Krolia and Keith’s father had gotten separated on their flight from the castle also those years ago was still a mystery, but it was more important they finally found each other. It was there, in a small village hidden in the mountains that encompassed a valley, that they took refuge in, that Shiro swore his first oath to Keith, his very first allegiance. Keith was first reluctant, but Shiro still woozy from the blood loss, and a hurting shoulder kneeled until Keith had accepted. 

Shiro smiles at that memory. He does smile often in the last days, weeks even. The shadow of the war lifting from his shoulders. Finally, he found a home, someone to love, and who loves him as well. He finally found the courage to grab everything with both hands and never let it go again. 

A knock at the door.

“Come in,” he calls and turns.

Matt stands in the opening, his formal tunic neatly pressed, green with gold trimmings, his eyes sparkle with laughter. “Looking good, old man.” He says with a smirk.

Shiro snorts. “Jealous?”

Matt shakes his head. “Not really.” But there is a wistful tone to it. Shiro smiles softly.

“Is it time?” Shiro asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yeah, Shiro, it is.”

They walk in humble silence. There will be many things happening today. The wedding ceremony itself, his coronation as the prince consort, the feast, the speeches, the firework. Keith warned him beforehand that there will be many speeches.

As they walk down the grand staircase to the open double doors, Lance and Pidge join them, falling in step behind them, making the next line of his entourage. Outside, down the stairs, Hunk falls into step. Still, nobody talks. They walk the hill further down, to the small temple that will hold both their wedding and Shiro’s coronation.

With every step they take closer, Shiro’s heart grows heavier. Flashes of the nightmare from the night tumble through his mind. The fragments of what had nearly been clashes with reality, and with bated breath, he waits to be pulled out of his beautiful paradise, out of this dream.

But there on top the steps of the temple, Keith waits, his prince, his king. Flanked by Kolivan and his mother, clad in lilac and gold, he stands tall and proud, the crown glinting in the morning light. There is a small smile on his lips, his head slightly inclined toward his mother listening to her talking. Kolivan just watches them stoically.

Keith turns to them when Shiro and his entourage draw close. For a moment, their gazes just find each other, letting the world drift away. Shiro forgets everything, what he was doing, what he should be doing, and what the words _court protocol_ even mean. He just looks. He is so fortunate to be able to wed this man.

To call him his.

A sharp elbow in his side, which probably hurt Matt more than him because of the armor, startles Shiro back to reality. Shiro bows his head as he was told to do. But Keith is faster, flying down the steps, right into his arms. Shiro catches him out of sheer instinct.

“I missed you,” whispers a breathless voice at his ear.

Shiro chuckles into the hair that smells of flowers, braided with tiny little stars in it. “Missed you as well.” He tightens his arms in the hope of chasing the last fragments of the nightmare away. This in his arms is real and solid. He can feel the warmth of Keith’s arms at his neck, hears the thundering heartbeat. This is not a dream.

Keith draws back, keeping his hands in Shiro’s, his eyes full of concern and worry. “Are you okay?” He bit his lip, his gaze serious. “We can still stop here if this is all too much for you. You sharing my feelings is more than I could ever ask for.”

“No!” Keith blinks. “No,” Shiro says, again more gentle. “It is just nerves. Also, Kolivan is still glowering at me.”

Keith turns his head, studying his uncle. “Oh, this is his happy face.”

“What?” Shiro asks surprised.

Then they both chuckle.

One or two people clearing their throats, makes them smile sheepishly. Shiro is about to let Keith’s hand go. The king is always the first to enter, but Keith holds on, entwining their fingers. Shiro throws him a look, but Keith just shrugs his shoulders, and says with an impish smile, “You know, I was never one to follow the rules.”

Shiro chuckles. “As you wish, my king.” With satisfaction, he registers the small shiver going through his betrothed. The officiant throws them a hesitant glance, but Keith glares at him when he tries to open his mouth. Shiro hides another chuckle behind a cough, Keith only squeezes his hand tighter. Together they walk in the dark and cool temple. 

Shiro has always found the small temple beautiful. It is dedicated to only one goddess, the Mother of All. A fearsome creature of a goddess that favors those that fight to protect and take revenge on those that commit crimes against what she considers her people. The temple's interior and exterior are made out of white and grey stone, that even in the height of the summer was cold to the touch. The walls are decorated with colorful murals depicting the history of the kingdom. In a faraway corner, an artist has already begun to paint Keith’s rise as the king and his victorious battles against the usurpers in the same elaborate and vibrant style. It will be stunning when it is finished, that much Shiro can tell. Keith always blushes when he catches a glance of those pictures. With their entrance, the whole crowd quiets down. Their friends waiting for them in the front, right before the altar. Shiro can see the grim-looking soldiers of Marmora who fought with them. Some look suspiciously misty-eyed. Spread through the room are also various royals from the outside world. Diplomacy, Dame Allura had called it, and Keith had sighed but nodded. Regardless, the wedding is a rather small affair. Keith had been adamant about it. The wedding to the man he loved will not be a self-righteous spectacle to satisfy the diplomatic needs of the council. Only him and the people he trusted, who had proven themselves. The added royalties had been a hard-fought compromise. 

When Shiro and Keith walk down the aisle, Shiro’s fingers switch nervously. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. Everything is planned, right down to every little gesture they will make. He even learned his vows beforehand, recited them for weeks, dreamt of them. But when they finally came to a stop, facing each other, while the people sit down, and the officiant makes the gesture for him to utter the first word, everything is gone. The big lilac orbs in front of him, looking at him with so much affection, do not help.

“I—”

The officiant clears his throat. But Shiro can not stop staring. His hands tremble, and in a flash, he is unsure. Is he doing the right thing? Has he really the right to take him as his husband, as his partner for the rest of their entire life? Shiro wants, oh, how he wants. He aches with it, feels it deep down into his bones. He felt it, when Keith had nearly bled out on the battlefield, when he held a wake, when he took that arrow, every time he made sure Keith was safe and protected, when he knelt in the cold and wet cave, swearing the final oath that changed everything. And even now, he wants to share everything that is about to come; but is he the right person for Keith, for the king?

A light touch on his hand startles him. Keith. His gaze is understanding and soft but also sad. Again, he is giving him an option to walk away from it all, and his beloved will understand, will still stand beside him, in any form he, Shiro, wants and needs.

“I have loved you from the first moment I laid my eyes on you.” Shiro hears himself saying. “Well, then I didn’t really know that it took a war and a near-fatal wound to come to my senses…” Keith snorts, but his gaze remains soft and open. A faint blush appears on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “And even still, I was nearly content with only being by your side as your knight, your paladin. Protecting you from everything that walks in the night or darkness. For me, it would have been enough. But then, others started to want you, and why should they not? You are brave and loyal, and beautiful, everything one could wish for. But I also was not able to see you with anyone but myself. It was the most selfish thought I ever had. And even then, it took me longer than I had hoped to finally ask for your hand. Well, basically, you asked for mine in the end, because I goofed up big time. And to my utter amazement, you said yes. And now, I’m standing here, in front of our friends and sworn comrades, with you, and still, I have doubts and ask myself why you have accepted me, why you have chosen me. At this moment, I realize one truth: I would lay down my life for you. There was never anyone else for me, and there will never be anyone else.”

“Oh, Shiro,” chokes Keith. “The answer to your questions is easy, because I love you.”

The officiant coughs again, but Shiro ignores him. With a burning heart and a body filled to the brim with undying happiness, he kisses Keith, his beloved, his wedded, his everything. If he were able, he would probably wax poetry, but his throat is closing up, the words escaping him again. He presses his forehead to Keith’s instead. There is no one else, only them, in this space, this tiny world. It had taken them everything to get here, and for the first time, Shiro is able to believe, that this is indeed true and real, and not merely a dream, an illusion born out of grief and sadness.

“Ah, well, but I still need to announce you're wed, your Majesty.” Shiro and Keith both chuckle at the words and turn to the amused officiant. 

“While we have skipped everything, there are still a few words I must say. You fought a war together, you relied on each other and proved to be stronger together than apart. Good times will come, bad times will come. Always remember the moment you formed the bond with each other. You are a team. As a married couple, as sovereigns of these lands, as friends to your family and comrades, you are a bridge between different worlds and customs and cultures. You are both one.” He pauses a second, smiling. “I declare you as such, and bless you with the touch of the goddess.” He pauses a moment before he turns to Shiro. A small boy scrambles up to the altar, holding a small pillow. On it lay a filigree circle made of gold and precious stones. “This is for you, paladin Takashi Shirogane.” The boy walks over to Keith. The officiant motions for Shiro to kneel. Keith takes the crown and Shiro bows his head.

“I, the king, crown you as my consort. You will reign in my stead if the need ever arises, you speak with your own voice, but it shall be known that you have my trust and that your word is as law as mine is.” He presses the crown softly on Shiro’s head. “Rise, Your Royal Highness Prince Takashi Shirogane.” He does so to thundering applause and meets the sparkling eyes of his husband.

  
  


At the feast, Keith’s hand never leaves his body, always touching, as if he is reassuring himself that Shiro is really there. And he basks in it. He smiles at his beloved, knowing that his gaze is still fragile, still on the verge of breaking completely. The pair dances their first dance, they nod and extend hands to the well-wishers, they hold speeches and suffer through them, and after everything is said and done, Keith leans over, eyes serious and questioning. “What is going on?” Steady.

Shiro swallows, and looks around, but nobody is paying them any mind, or purposely leave them to their privacy. “Let’s get out of here.”

Keith narrows his eyes before he nods. Outside, in the courtyard, he signals a stable boy, who dashes away and comes back with Shiro’s horse in record time. Black looks unimpressed and lets himself willingly be straddled and ridden. Keith, in front of Shiro, his back pressing to the chest, is held securely by Shiro’s left arm.

They fly through the night, the cool breeze refreshing after the stifling warmth of the ball hall. They only sound is the echo of the hooves on the cobblestone before it changes to the dullness of the sandy roads of the fields. Shiro turns the horse right in the direction of the woods. The same ones they met in all those years ago. He finds the clearing without much trouble. Stopping at its outskirts, he hops off the horse and helps his husband. And isn’t that a giddy thought, _helping his_ husband _down_. He secures Black at a nearby tree before he leads Keith into the opening. There, under the open stars, Shiro takes him in his arms, and together they sway to the rhythms of the night, the whistling of the wind in the treetops, the serenade of the night bird, the whispers of the nightlife in the underbrush. And Shiro holds him even closer, feeling the beating of Keith’s heart against his own, slowly calming it, stopping the faint tremors that had still wracked through him, relaxing him down to his very core.

“What is going on, Shiro?” Keith’s voice is just a whisper against his ear, worried and gentle.

“I—” He stops and swallows and starts again. “I dreamt last night. I dreamt of the last battle, of how I found you. How I came to help you, saved you. But this time, I was too late.” A faint echo of “oh” at his ear, and arms that tighten their hold around him. “I dreamt about the pyres, but this time, it was you whom I gave up to the flames, it was you, whom I needed to say goodbye too.”

“Shiro…”

“And then I woke, on a grey morning and in an empty bed. It took me a long and frightening moment to realize where I was, and even longer to believe that it really was just a dream and that this here is not an illusion.” He exhales and chuckles. “Forgive me, this morning was quite a ride, and I’m sorry that I have been all over the place, breaking court protocol.”

Keith snorts. “I told you what I think about the rules.” He draws back a bit, laying one hand onto Shiro’s cheek. “You know, I myself still fear of waking up and finding myself alone once more. You far away or dead.”

Shiro kisses him and murmurs, “You will never be alone again. You will always be in my heart, whatever happens. Only this now is all that matters.”

“Only this now,” Keith answers, smiling. 

Together they dance until the stars twinkle in their rhythm and the universe laughs above them.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed that. It was a joy writing it, even if pure fluff is not what I usually do. Did you see me sneaking in that bit angst? Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sparklefly2)
> 
> The comment about the personal dandelion, comes from a Harry Potter fic I read a very long time ago, that line stayed with me. Sadly I have no clue about the title or the author anymore, if you have an idea feel free to ping me.


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